


sentenced to an eternity on this planet

by Skyuni123



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bisexuality, Biting, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Humor, New York City, NoBusting!AU, Slow Build, Vampires, it's a vampire au and erin is actually a college lecturer who knew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7972735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having a girlfriend is one thing.<br/>Having a girlfriend who is a vampire is quite another thing.</p><p>Maybe Erin Gilbert's life isn't quite as normal as she thought it was.</p><p>It's not a story about vampires. It's a story with vampires in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Night Out

Dr Erin Gilbert is Normal with a capital ‘N’. She has a Normal job as the Senior Professor of Theoretical Physics at Columbia University, she has a Normal boyfriend whose brown suits leave much to be desired, and she has a Normal apartment on 42nd Street.

She wants nothing more to live her life and spend her career doing everything as Normally as possible.  

 

Unfortunately, the universe has other plans.

 

Erin and her female friends have a very specific Friday night ritual. They go to Enigma, a local sit-down bar, for cocktails and conversation, then they move onto Bar 101, a slightly more salubrious affair for people over a certain age - that plays that sweet, sweet late 80s, early 90s music. 

It’s very specific, in that, every conversation starts basically the same.

 

“So, Erin, how’s the boyfriend?” The question usually comes from Millie, the most rabid friend of hers. However, today it’s come from Anna, a curvaceous blonde with a penchant for gossip. 

“Dean’s fine…? As always?” She doesn’t really know what they’re expecting. Dean is fine. Dean is always fine. She loves him, but the word that would be used to describe him is ‘fine’. It’s an all-encapsulating, very specific term.

“Have there been any signs that he’s going to -” The question comes from Millie, this time. She’s holding her Cosmopolitan glass in one hand, and tapping on the table with the other. Her long nails click against the lacquered surface.

“Going to what?”

“Pop the question!” Millie exclaims, brown hair flying wildly, “What else would I mean?”

“Dean?”  Erin splutters, unable to keep from flushing, “He’d never.”

“Why not?” Jennifer, a brunette of olive-skinned complexion asks. She’s always been the quieter one. 

“We’re not going to get married.”  She laughs. “That’s ridiculous.”

“But  _ why  _ is it ridiculous?” Jen continues. “It’s legitimate enough to all of us.” She gestures to the group at large who all nod vigorously.

“I love him, but I’m not marrying him. Come  _ on.”  _ Erin snorts. The idea is ridiculous. She loves Dean, she really does, but she has absolutely no thought of tethering herself to him in another other sort of capacity. It just seems utterly illogical. “Can we talk about something that isn’t my  _ perfectly fine  _ relationship?”

 

“Erin, we just want the best for you.” Anna says, clasping her hand in both of hers. “I’m not saying anything about your age here, but… well… Dean could be the best that you’re going to get.” 

Erin gapes at her, visibly shocked. This isn’t the first time that her friends have said things quite like this to her, but they’ve never been so blunt before. “For the record,  _ Anna _ , I’m a human. I don’t have an expiry date.”

“We know that!” Millie grasps her other hand in her own. “It’s just that marriage can bring so much to someone’s life! You can settle down, knowing that you’re financially secure, with someone you love. It’s an ideal deal.”

“You don’t get to dictate my life.” Erin pulls her hands away from the grips of the other women. “I’m sure you’re all happy with your married lives, but it’s not for me. For the record, 45% of marriages in the US end in divorce.” She stands from her chair, and drains her cocktail in one. Collecting her purse and blatantly ignoring all of the mildly-irritated looks on her friends’ faces, she says, “Thanks for the  _ great  _ night out, ladies.” 

 

With that damning admonishment, she turns and walks away, not entirely sure why she’s so mad. She loves Dean. She’s loved him for the whole time she’s known him. It’s just that… she could never marry him. The thought is terrifying. She doesn’t know if it’s some kind of fear of commitment or something deeper, but she doesn’t want to explore it all the same.

  
  


Outside, the air is cool. Night has fallen and the full moon above illuminates her far better than any streetlamp. She walks some of the way back towards her apartment, but then decides to call an Uber. These heels are getting her nowhere. That’s another purchase she regrets. Maybe she should stop letting her friends take her shopping.

She orders the Uber and realises she’s in for a ten minute wait. It’s not particularly great, considering the part of the city that she’s in. It’s not Hell’s Kitchen or anything, but it could be nicer. Perhaps she should have ordered the Uber from the bar. 

She shivers, and leans against a wall to wait. 

 

It is then that she hears the  _ voice.  _ The tone’s casual, but it’s husky in a way that leads her thoughts somewhere darker  _ immediately _ .

“Don’t come any closer. Please.”

She looks around, and gathers that the voice is coming from a large dumpster just down the road from where she’s standing. In what is probably not the brightest move of her night so far, she starts walking towards it.

 

It’s not like she’s being drawn to the mysterious voice.

It’s that she’s got a healthy appetite for investigation. Obviously.

 

“Please. Stay there.” The voice purrs, quite opposite to the words it’s actually saying. “I can’t stop myself if you get any closer.”

 

Erin stops a few feet from the dumpster. That’s probably best, considering the situation.

 

A blonde pops her head out from inside the dumpster. She’s stunning in the oddest way. Upon later reflection, Erin won’t know why she was quite so drawn to her, but she is. The blonde is enthralling, despite being covered in what looks like a fine layer of dirt.

“Why… hello, baby.” The blonde drawls, looking Erin up and down. “You’re quite a package, aren’t you?” 

“Thank you.” Erin blushes, which is something she never does when she’s complimented. What is going on?

 

The blonde leaps out of the dumpster in one fluid motion and lands neatly on her feet. She’s dressed in a vintage Spice Girls t-shirt that is on the side of slightly too tight, and distressed jeans. The shirt rides up a bit as she lands, and Erin catches a glimpse of the smooth skin underneath. She gulps. Um.

“Now, I’d  _ love  _ to stay and chat, but you’ve got something I really want right now.” The blonde stalks towards her, with a grin that is almost-predatory on her face.

 

“What?” She asks, fully aware of the fact that she should probably be moving away right now, but not really wanting to. She just doesn’t… need to. She just doesn’t… want to. It’s like her entire brain has been taken over by thoughts of the blonde in front of her.

“See, I’ve been in a casket for like twenty years, and I am  _ super  _ hungry.” She grins, and something about her teeth seems off. They’re oddly pointed, and if Erin wasn’t feeling quite as content as she is now, maybe she would realise why. 

“...I make a really good spaghetti bolognese…” She slurs, feeling sleepy all of a sudden. “...I could make you one if you’d… like.”

“I have really specific dietary preferences. Sorry.” The blonde is barely a foot away now. She’s shorter than Erin, just barely, and her hair is down along her back. Erin wants to run her fingers through it and she doesn’t know why.

The blonde tilts her head, and her eyes shine. “You really are a sight for sore eyes. I’m sorry.” 

 

Before Erin can cry out, or even move (and let’s face it, why would she want to? The blonde’s gaze is so consuming that she’s rooted to the spot), there’s a sharp pain in her neck and nothing matters any more.

 

All that there is, and all that there ever was is the blonde woman. Her bite is the only thing that matters any more, because nothing has ever felt quite so  _ good  _ before. The wave of pleasure in Erin’s body is akin to the best orgasm of her life, but it’s  _ better  _ than that, because it’s not just a physical thing. She feels this in her brain, in her soul. It’s fucking  _ wonderful.  _ She’s never felt anything like this before, and, in her last vestiges of proper thought, she doesn’t know if she ever will again.

  
  


The next morning, when she wakes in the arms of her boyfriend, the night before is a complete blur.

“You must have got in late last night.” Dean says, hair mussed from sleep. “I didn’t even hear you get back. Good night?”

“I think so?” Erin yawns. “I had some drinks, we did some dancing, and I got an Uber back. Nothing else of interest happened. I guess I must have drunk more than I expected.”   
“You deserve a night off.” Dean taps her on the nose with one finger and she laughs. “After all of the marking you did last week.”

“I guess.” She rolls onto her back, and stretches. Everything feels a bit achy. She hopes she’s not coming down with something. “I’m going to shower.”

“Sure thing, honey.” 

 

The night is still a complete blur as she undresses out of her pyjamas to get into the shower. It’s still a complete blur even while she’s in the shower. When she gets out, she’s resigned to the fact that she probably won’t remember it at all.

 

The bite marks on the back of her neck remember, though. 

She’s not going to notice those for a while, however.

 


	2. The Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a university dinner party, and there's also a mysterious blonde woman. What could be happening? Only time will tell.

“Oh my God,” Dean says, from behind her. 

 

She’s putting her hair up, as the pair of them are attending an official dinner mandated by the university. It’s been taking her a while.

 

“What…?” She asks, slowly, “Did I miss something?”

 

“Have you been around any snakes lately?” He asks, coming to stand right behind her. “You’ve got one hell of a bite back here.” He smoothes a hand over the back of her neck and her skin tingles at his touch.

  
“A bite? Where?” She cranes her head to look, utterly surprised. It’d have been almost impossible to get bitten at such an odd spot on her body.

 

“Here.” He pokes her in the back of the neck and she arcs forward, grabbing at the bathroom sink to keep from stumbling as a bolt of pure pleasure  _ slams  _ through her.

 

“Shit, are you okay?” Dean asks, and moves to help her.

 

“I’m fine. Fine. Good. A-okay.” She takes a breath, everything still  _ aching.  _ “Might not want to do that again, though.”

 

“Did it hurt?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

-

 

Later, when she’s rearranged her hair to cover the bite (it might look like a snake has mauled her neck, according to Dean, but she doesn’t want her colleagues getting the wrong idea), the pair head off to the dinner. It’s a fancy affair, the sort of dinner that the college only generally puts on when they want to keep appearances up. 

 

She doesn’t mind. It’s an excuse not to order takeout and sit in front of the television, like she and Dean do most nights.

 

Life as a college professor might be well-paid, but the hours are nothing to scoff at. Neither of them feel like cooking after a long day on campus.

 

The banquet hall is long, and decorated excessively. She’s fairly sure she’s not seen anything as excessive since the Christmas party the year before, where the Vice-Chancellor announced that two of the staff would be leaving. She wonders why the place has been made up to look quite so… lavish.

 

It is nearly Christmas, after all, so she supposes it’s not too out of the ordinary and puts it out of her mind.

 

“I’m going to talk to Phil, honey.” Dean indicates to his friend, a fellow English professor, who is standing across the hall and chatting to someone. “I’ll see you later.”

 

She nods and smiles a thin smile at him as he goes. She’s never been especially good at mingling on her own and would generally prefer not to do it. “Bye.”

 

She wanders for a while, tries some canapes and drinks probably slightly too much of the free champagne. She’s a bit anxious. It unfortunately comes with the territory. 

 

Anna, one of her friends who is a bit persona non grata at the moment, comes up to her after she’s just made her third rotation of the buffet table. “You look anxious.” She says, without any hint of a greeting. 

 

“Thank you, Madam Obvious.” She bites back, realises her tone was probably a little bit harsh, and softens. “Sorry. You know how I don’t like things like this.”

 

“But, come on, it’s the greatest way to meet people!” Anna’s blonde curls bounce as she nods her head. “Do some networking! You know what I heard?”

 

“What?” Erin asks, curious despite herself.

 

“The school’s hired a couple of new lecturers.”

 

“That’s your news?” She’s almost disappointed. 

 

“Yeah, but they’re twins or something and they’re  _ gorgeous.  _ See, come look.” Anna grabs her arm and drags her towards the stage at the end of the room. 

 

As the crowds part she can see two blonde people talking to the Vice-Chancellor of the university. The blond man is nothing to write home about - she can definitely see that he’s attractive - but in a tall, surfer-guy sort of way. She shifts on the balls of her feet, trying to get a better look at the woman, who to her great annoyance is facing away from her. 

 

“They’re fine, I guess?” Erin glances back down at Anna, who looks vaguely disappointed. “What do you want me to say?” 

 

Anna pouts. “Boring. We’ve got two new lecturers who have basically won the genetic lottery-”

 

“That’s subjective.”

 

“-And you don’t even want to talk to them? Try harder, Erin.” 

 

Erin huffs. “You were the one who was trying to get me to marry Dean. Remember that conversation? Remember how well that went?” That night was a bit of a blur but she could distinctly remember how much her ‘friends’ had hassled her about tying the knot before ‘it was too late’. She doesn’t really mean to be antagonistic, but the memory still grates on her. It’s her life and her relationship, and she still can’t really believe that her friends had the nerve to suggest that she had an ‘expiry date’.

 

“I’m talking about talking, not adultery, Erin.” Anna snags another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sips at it. “It can’t hurt. I’m pretty sure she’s moving into your department anyway.”   
  


“She’s a scientist?” Erin peeks her head up above the crowd and takes another look at the blondes. The woman still hasn’t turned towards her but she does get a good look at her long wavy hair. It seems to resonate in her head for reasons she can’t explain. There are blondes and there are  _ blondes  _ and there’s something about that hair that she remembers.

 

“Yeah. Chemist or something. I don’t know, I got a bit distracted by how nice the guy looks in a suit.” Anna preens slightly. “He’s got a good voice too,  _ and  _ he complimented me on my hair.”

 

“Shut up, Mrs-Happily-Married.” Erin huffs again, still failing to get a glimpse of the blonde woman.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of window-shopping.” Anna giggles and drains her glass. 

 

At this rate she’ll be dancing on the tables before the night is out. 

 

“Yes, sure, fine.” Erin says. “Did you see her though? What was she like?” She doesn’t know why she’s so fixated on the blonde woman. Perhaps it’s because she’s never seen her before. The mystery. Or something like that.

 

“Nice enough?” Anna replies, casting an odd glance at Erin. “I don’t know, I wasn’t paying much attention to her.” 

 

“Damn.” Erin sinks back onto her heels, still utterly confused about why she’s so interested in the blonde pair. “I suppose I’ll run into her on campus or something, when the semester restarts.”

 

“Yeah, good.” Anna shoots her another odd look. It’s almost…  _ confused.  _ “So, I was going to ask you -”

 

Erin looks down at her shoes, mentally preparing herself for another one of Anna’s interrogations. (Serves her right for befriending a criminology professor.)

 

Before Anna can say another word, she’s interrupted by another female voice. “Sorry, Anna, but I was wondering if I could meet my new colleague?”

 

Erin jerks her head up and nearly clicks her neck, just in time to meet the eyes of the blonde woman from earlier. Blearily, she wonders how the woman managed to make it across the banquet hall so fast.  

 

“Um, yeah. I’ll see you.” Anna stammers and takes off through the crowd.

 

Erin coughs awkwardly and tries not to meet the blonde woman’s gaze. She’s probably an inch or so taller than her, but the blonde has  _ presence.  _ She seems familiar in a way that Erin can’t explain. It’s like she’s been inside her head. “She’s been ogling your brother all night.” She laughs under her breath.

 

“Oh, I noticed.” The blonde’s lips quirk upwards in a wry smile. “Hard not to. I’m Jill Holtzmann, by the way.” She sticks out a hand for Erin to shake, which she quickly takes.

 

“Erin… Gilbert.” She shakes her head for a second to clear it and tastes blood in her mouth. Weird. “Look, do I know you? I really feel like we’ve met before.”

 

“I just have one of those faces.” Jill rolls her eyes, a movement that seems out-of-character considering how nicely she’s dressed. “Happens all the time.”

 

“Are you sure?” Erin asks again. “I worked at a lot of places during grad school. I could have seen you somewhere.” The other woman  _ seems  _ familiar. More familiar than anyone she’s ever come across, and she can’t figure out why.

 

“I think I would have remembered meeting someone like you, Erin Gilbert.” Jill smirks in a way that does serious things to Erin’s insides. “You can let my hand go, by the way.”

 

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” She lets go and clasps her hands together for good measure. She’s breathless and clammy for reasons she just can’t fathom. “...So, are you from around here?”

 

“Well… originally.” The other woman says, her words very clearly practised. “I’ve been awol for a bit though. Doing things. Mostly sleeping, but mostly not being here. I am New York born and bred, however.”

 

“So am I. Probably a bit before your time though.” 

 

Jill snorts. “Probably.” She draws a hand through her hair and Erin can’t help but follow the movement. “So, we’ll be working in the same department. Any pointers?”

 

“Don’t let the freshmen get away with any shit?” She laughs under her breath. “I think they’ll like you though.” She doesn’t quite know why she says it, but it rings true. Jill seems nice enough.

 

“You’ve known me less than five minutes.” Jill muses, “And you trust me enough to say that your students will like me. Interesting…”

 

“What’s interesting?”

 

“Nothing you need to worry about.” She smiles slightly and says, “I’ve got to deal with my brother. Guy’s a total idiot unless he’s teaching.”

 

“Really?” Erin asks, “What does he teach?”

 

“Law.” Jill shrugs, “I have no idea how he did it. He can hardly tie his shoes without my help and he’s got a doctorate. I don’t know.” 

 

“Guess I’ll have to meet him sometime.” Erin barrels in before she can even really consider the implications of her words. “He sounds like quite the character.”

 

“He’s certainly… something.” Jill shrugs again. “By the way, one of your hair things has fallen out, do you mind if I-”

 

“Oh yes, go ahead. Thanks.”

 

And before Erin’s ever realised what she’s committed herself to, Jill reaches out to her, pins the strand of hair back into her hairstyle, and inadvertently brushes her fingertips over the bite at the back of Erin’s throat.

 

The surge of  _ want  _ is instantaneous. She shudders, breath coming fast and her heart thudding in her ears. She could jump anyone right now. She  _ would  _ jump anyone right now. She feels wanton and bleary and far too  _exposed._

 

Trying to regain some tiny modicum of control, she croaks, “holy shit,” and  _ immediately  _ regrets it.

 

“Are you okay?” Jill asks, having removed her fingers from anywhere near Erin’s neck. She looks genuinely concerned, which would be lovely if Erin wasn’t having some sort of rapid mental breakdown.

 

Erin realises she’s gripping her hands together probably slightly too tightly, considering they’re going white. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, entirely fine, everything’s fine.” She bauks, trying to scramble for an excuse of any kind. “Sudden cramp. Don’t mind me. Gotta go, nice meeting you.” 

 

She’s going to go find her very nice, very Normal boyfriend, and they’re going to make their excuses and go home and be very Normal and she’s definitely going to ignore the fact that she’s got some kind of weird g-spot snake bite thing on the back of her neck because she really doesn’t have the capacity to deal with it right now.

 

Or ever, to be completely honest.

 

Unfortunately, as things tend to, it doesn’t exactly turn out that way.


	3. once bitten, still shy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She decides that the best thing to do is to lie. It’s going to end the conversation quickly (or at least she hopes it will). “Yes. I got a neck injury a few weeks ago. Doctors said it’ll be fine, but it’s still a little tender.”
> 
> It’s not exactly a lie.
> 
> (If you replace ‘doctors’ with ‘nobody’ and ‘a little tender’ with ‘REALLY FUCKING TENDER’.)

Erin’s in one of the kitchenettes on campus that are dotted around the Science building.

 

It’s a Monday, midway through the final semester before summer break, and she’s feeling it. Weekends are just not long enough sometimes and the weekend previous had been no exception. 

 

She yawns, takes a sip of her coffee, and writes  _ 67/100  _ on the question sheet she’s marking. Barely a pass. She’d expected better from the student in question.

 

Her collared shirt is done up tightly around her neck. There’s something very wrong about the bite there, but she doesn’t want to go to a doctor about it. It doesn’t seem  _ right.  _ So, as logic would dictate, she’s pretending it doesn’t exist. 

 

Draining her cup, she decides to refill it before her classes start for the day. She’s got about twenty minutes to pack up her equipment and walk across campus. She can easily make it.

 

That is, until she’s refilling the coffee pot and Jill Holtzmann walks in.

Dr Jill Holtzmann. Brilliant chemist, hilariously funny and gorgeous to boot. 

 

Erin still can’t shake the feeling that she recognises her from something, but she has no idea where. Truth be told, she’s been avoiding her since the banquet. Something something ‘you touched the weird neck bite, now I feel weird around you’ sort of thing. 

 

“Dr Gilbert.” Dr Holtzmann doesn’t seem surprised to see her in the kitchenette. “Good to see you.”

 

“And you.” She eyes her warily. If she comes closer, she’s going to make a run for it. 

 

“How are your classes going?” Holtzmann puts down her purse, and rifles through it. Her tone isn’t flat, exactly, but it’s observational. She doesn’t seem wholeheartedly engrossed in the conversation, but more like she’s  _ processing  _ it.

 

“Very well, thanks.” Erin says, somewhat stiffly, as she switches the coffee pot on. “And yours?”

 

“They’re a rambunctious bunch, but it’s still rad.” The blonde replies, looking up at her with a smile on her face. “I like them.” She stands, apparently not having found what she was looking for.

 

Rad? Erin’s not heard that word used since the late eighties. “College students.” She says with a shrug. They’ve all been there.

 

“Back in my day they were different.” Holtzmann strides towards her, obviously looking for something within the kitchenette, and Erin fights the urge to back away. Holtzmann is just another lecturer and everything is fine.

 

She turns away and fiddles with her mug, refusing to meet the other woman head-on.. “Back in your day? You would have graduated in… 2004? 2005? Surely they’re not that different.”

 

“You’d be surprised.” Holtzmann says, impossibly close, and reaches past Erin’s back to get a mug from the cupboard behind her head, brushing her arm against the back of her neck as she does so.

 

If Erin didn’t have such a firm grip on the counter, she would have dropped to the floor. Even so, she nearly stumbles, and bites back a groan.

_ God, it’s been a few  _ weeks.  _ How is this still happening?  _

She turns around, puts some space between herself and Holtzmann and nearly scalds her arm in the process. The other woman is looking down at her, with an expression that seems to combine concerned and amused.

 

“Are you feeling okay, Erin?” Holtzmann asks, setting her mug to one side. It’s got ‘just hang in there’ written on it, and a picture of a kitten.

 

Erin wishes that she  _ could _ . “Yes. Yes. I’m cool. Doing great. Ecetera.”

 

“Really?” Holtzmann asks, the smirk growing.  _ It’s like she knows.  _ “Are you injured? You seemed… sore when I knocked your back.”

 

She decides that the best thing to do is to lie. It’s going to end the conversation quickly (or at least she  _ hopes  _ it will). “Yes. I got a neck injury a few weeks ago. Doctors said it’ll be fine, but it’s still a little tender.” 

 

It’s not  _ exactly  _ a lie.

(If you replace ‘doctors’ with ‘nobody’ and ‘a little tender’ with ‘REALLY FUCKING TENDER’.)

 

“I can take a look if you like?” Holtzmann asks innocently. “I’ve got a medical degree. I specialised in hematology.”

 

Somehow, Erin believes her. If there’s anyone who could specialise in both blood and nuclear chemistry, it’d be Holtzmann. “I’m fine.”

 

“Really? It’s something you should get checked out, if you haven’t. And you don’t have to give me the name of your insurance provider.”

 

Erin almost laughs. Almost. “I’m fine.”

 

“We’ve got a few minutes before our first classes, come on, Erin.” Holtzmann says, but this time, it’s got more of a… layer to it. Her words seem trustworthy. Believable. Like they’re coming from a close friend.

 

“Okay.” Erin agrees. It couldn’t hurt, could it?


	4. Examination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight slight slight dubcon

“Huh,” Holtzmann sighs, breath tickling the back of her neck. “I  _ think  _ you might have been bitten by a vampire.”

 

“A vampire. Huh.” Erin says flatly, doing the top two buttons of her shirt up. “How did I not think of that?”

 

“They’re a very serious threat in New York City.” Holtzmann says, dryly and Erin can’t tell if she’s joking.

 

(Of  _ course  _ she’s joking. Vampires aren’t real. This train of thought is not helping.)

 

“No, seriously.” Erin says, turning to face her. “What did this? A bug or something?”

 

“No signs of infection and it’s healed over nicely.” Holtzmann replies, shrugging. “Not a bug bite. A vampire bite.”

 

“Christ.” Erin says, dropping her head to her knees. She likes her new colleague, really, she does, but this sort of behaviour is really off-putting. “Can’t you be serious for once?”

 

“I am serious.” Holtzmann jumps neatly over the back of the couch to sit next to her. It’s annoying graceful. “Vampire bites aren’t serious, and it’ll scab over eventually. Might be a little sore until then though.”

 

How on earth did she manage to get a cryptozoologist as a colleague? She should have just left it. “It’s okay to say you don’t know, you know.”

 

“But I do know.” Holtzmann reaches out and prods her in the shoulder. “What kind of bug bite gives symptoms like  _ this? _ ”

 

And before, when she had been examining her, she hadn’t even  _ touched  _ the bite. Now, she rests her hand flat on the back of Erin’s neck.

 

It’s the best and the worst thing she’s ever felt.

 

Best; because she’s coming apart with her attractive female colleague, and  _ worst;  _ because she’s  _ literally  _ coming apart on a couch in her  _ place of work  _ with her attractive female colleague who she doesn’t know very well.

 

_ And,  _ she has a boyfriend. That too.

 

She stumbles off the couch, barely managing to croak a, “b-..bye” to the cause of all this, and flees, cheeks pink.

 

That’s it. No more. She needs to see a doctor. Or see  _ someone.  _ This is enough. She feels shaky, and unwell, and she doesn't know if she'll ever be able to look anyone in the eye ever again. This is  _enough._


	5. Between Floors

She’s on her way to  _ see  _ her doctor (a lovely, but rather… hyperactive woman named Patty) when the fire alarm goes off. This would be fine, aside from the fact that Columbia’s got a whole bunch of elevators and she’s currently stuck in one of them.

 

Which would be fine. The alarm is only part of a drill, she was pre-warned about it and it had slipped her mind.

 

It would be fine,  _ except  _ for the fact that one  _ Doctor Jillian Holtzmann  _ is stuck in the elevator with her.

 

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck in here?” Holtzmann asks, looking increasingly antsy.

 

Erin shrugs, trying not to make eye contact. At this point, they’re sitting on the floor, backs against the wall. “Don’t know. It’s a drill so they’re not going to be searching the buildings madly or anything. Maybe twenty minutes? Depends how long it takes for the undergrads to get out of the buildings.”

 

Holtzmann chuckles, but there’s no humour in it. “Those undergrads, huh?”

 

Erin can’t help but look over to her and she doesn’t look well. Like, at  _ all.  _ She’s paler than usual, almost looks malnourished, and is sweating so much that Erin can see on her face. “Are you alright?”

 

“Peachy.” Holtzmann replies, but her face is strained.

 

“Sure?”

 

“Yep. Totally good. Awesome.” She stretches out her neck and knocks her head back against the lift wall. “Ow.”

 

“What aren’t you telling me?”

 

Holtzmann closes her eyes. “Look… I have a… chronic illness… of a sort. Sometimes I get flare-ups. This is one of those times.” She groans under her breath. “It’s fine. Used to it.”

 

“Okay.” That’s fair enough. She doesn’t need to pry. “Can I help you? I’ve got a pharmacy in here.” She pats her bag.

 

She’s not exactly known as the ‘Campus Drug Dealer’ but she knows how crabby students get when they’re feeling unwell. She supposes it’s better that she keeps a multitude of painkillers on her than the kids having them themselves.

 

Holtzmann chuckles again, but bites off a groan at the end. “Babe, you’re going to need something stronger than anything you’ve got in there.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Couple of pints of O-negative would be a good start.” She pants.

 

“What?” Erin inches back against the wall, so subtly that she doesn’t really realise she’s doing it.

 

“Look, very sorry about this, Erin, but right now I’m just trying not to ape out in here.” She bites back another groan. “That stuff I spouted about vampires the other day? Completely true. All of it. Vampires are real.” 

 

Erin huffs. “Is now really the time for your cryptozoology stuff?”

 

“Oh for-” Holtzmann groans, lifting her head off the wall. “I didn’t want to do this. If there was any other way I wouldn’t-”

 

“What?” And then she  _ looks  _ at her.

 

She’s fairly sure the pair of giant fangs Holtzmann is sprouting weren’t there before.

 

“Jesus fu- what?!” She can’t scramble back any further in the lift but she presses herself back against the wall as far as she can. Something about this seems familiar but she can’t bring herself to remember what. Vampires? This has got to be a dream.

 

“Sorry, Erin. Seriously. I didn’t want to tell you like this.” Holtzmann seems to be oddly… regretful… about the whole situation. “I would go the whole ‘safe, sane and consensual’ route with you and all, but  _ man  _ I am in a ton of pain here.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Smart vampires - not me, obviously - are supposed to feed every couple of days or so. I got caught up in work - forgot. It’s been too long and it’s taking a toll.” 

 

“By feed, you mean…?” Erin trails off and clutches her arms closer to herself. The lift suddenly seems very small.

 

“Yep. Sorry. It’s just survival for me, yknow?”

 

“Killing innocent people isn’t just ‘for survival’!” She blurts. “You can’t rationalise it like that.”  
  


“You think I  _ kill _ people?” Holtzmann breathes, and if she wasn’t in so much pain Erin is sure she’d be laughing. “No. Take a bit from a few people and it’s fine. It’s like a blood donation.” 

 

“Except instead of going to people with leukemia, you’re eating it.”

 

“Oh for-” Holtzmann rolls her eyes. “Would you rather starve to death slowly or take the occasional drop of blood from someone?”

 

“Neither.” Erin says,  _ very  _ firmly.

 

“That’s a cop-out. You’re a scientist, Erin. Try and get over the fact that I occasionally brighten up some people’s days by taking blood from them, and think about how cool my physiology is.”

 

“I’m a physicist, not a biologist. And I’m not completely happy with being in the same lift as a vampire who’s starving to death. If you die in the next ten minutes, I will be blamed.”

 

“Speaking of - can I ask you for a favour?” Holtzmann wheedles, looking at her with pain-filled eyes. 

 

If she’s been reading the conversation right, she’s fairly sure she knows what said favour is going to be.

  
  
  


It turns out that being a food source for a vampire isn’t actually that bad, but she’s pretty sure that that’s just the lightheadedness talking.

 


	6. nosferatu

Erin wakes on her couch the next morning, with her head throbbing like a bitch. Her phone is placed on the cushion next to her head, and it’s blinking a low battery warning at her.

 

She rolls off her couch and stumbles about for a few moments, looking for a charger, before she manages to find hers and plug her phone in.

 

Her forearm hurts. The house is oddly quiet.

 

Something feels… wrong.

 

It takes her a few seconds to remember why. It’s like she’s got a terrible hangover, but it’s because she’s been fed on.

 

She really hopes that Holtzmann actually is a vampire, or else she’s taking a fetish to a whole new level.

 

“Dean?” Erin calls, scratching at the bite mark on her arm, which is smaller than she expected. “Are you here?”

 

Nothing. _And_ it’s eleven am. On a Saturday. He should be in.

 

She wanders through the apartment, wondering if he’s just asleep somewhere, but no dice. Then, she texts him, but the resulting text sound from the other room makes it obvious that he doesn’t have his phone on him.

 

Where the hell is he?

 

Anxiety is curling in her stomach about half an hour later, when there’s a knock on her door. It’s a quick, loud knock that belies pace. The owner of the hand is in a hurry.

 

She opens the door without checking the peephole. Dean wouldn’t knock but she doesn’t check anyway.

 

It’s Holtzmann.

 

“What the -” Erin begins, but stops at the look on the other woman’s face.

 

She pushes past her without any sort of explanation, and stands in the middle of the room, _sniffing(??)_ the air.

 

“I really hope you have a good explanation for this.” Erin says.

 

“Shush!” Holtzmann licks a finger, holds it up in the air, and rotates until her finger is poking towards Erin’s bedroom door. She follows it through the door and stops in front of her bed.

 

“What the earth are you doing, Holtzmann?” Erin stands in the doorway, hands on her hips. “Give me an answer or I’m calling the police.”

 

Holtzmann stands stock still for a moment, but then slowly turns. “Erin, honey, I know I haven’t known you for long… but I think it’s my duty to tell you that a vampire’s been in here. One that’s not me.”

 

“What?” The thought is… violating.

 

The errant vampire then throws the bedsheets back to reveal a large, blood-coloured stain in the middle of the bed. “I really hope you don’t have a partner, because that _probably_ shouldn’t be there.”

 

Erin stares down at the stain for a moment. “What?”

-  


-

“And _THAT_ was how I missed meeting Elvis by like, two seconds.” Holtzmann says, licking blood off the edge of one of Erin’s best mugs.

 

It’d be something that’d concern her, aside from the fact that Dean’s missing and Holtzmann’s being rather useless about it. “Just tell me where Dean is, okay?”

 

Holtzmann must finally notice how tightly-wound she’s getting. “Okay. Fine. I guess. Look, so, there’s two types of vampires, right?”

 

“Two?”

 

“Yeah. Me and my adopted brother, Kevin - we’re normal vampires.”

 

“He’s adopted?” Erin manages to find her voice, somewhat shocked. She was sure they were related, they look so alike!

 

“He’s Australian, of course he’s adopted.” Holtzmann replies, with a look of disgust. “Anyway. We’re normal vampires. We can feed off anything bloody - Kevin and I spent a lot of the 70s chasing mosquitoes through swamps in Florida and screeching -”

 

“-you’re not serious.”

 

“ _Deadly_ serious.” Holtzmann says, and then giggles at her pun. “We’re normal. Anyway. There’s one other type of vampire. The Nosferatu. They’re like… vampire royalty, _complete_ with all the inbreeding. They’re the worst.”

 

“You have… royalty?”

 

“Yep.” She pops the ‘p’. “They’re complete racists, think that vampires are the superior race and that we should only turn people within one or two family lines. It’s smugness to an extreme and they only drink blood out of silver goblets.”

 

“...you’re not serious.”

 

“Yeah. It’s the worst. Anyway, I smelt one of them this morning and I’ve been tracking him across Brooklyn all morning. Trail led here and here we are.”

 

“You’re telling me that a… vampire racist?? has been in my house?”

 

Holtzmann shrugs. “Yep. They suck.”

 

‘Why?!”

 

“I mean, I just told you why they suck..”

 

“No, _why_ did he come here?”

 

“To abduct your boyfriend, I’d think.”

 

Erin picks up her mug and throws it at her face.


	7. cupcake

Later, after Holtzmann’s finished picking all of the shards of smashed porcelain out of her face - “I mean, I understand why you did that, but you could have given me a few seconds warning so I didn’t ruin my rep by not catching it,” - she sits Erin down at her kitchen table and starts talking again. 

Erin watches in wonder as all of the little cuts on Holtzmann’s face start healing themselves, though she refuses to be impressed because she’s still Pissed Off. 

 

“What you’ve gotta understand is that these people  _ suck.  _ Most normal vampires just wanna hang out, y’know, live out our lives in peace and not get staked. Nosferatu want to end the human race, they’re just kinda shitty at it because there’s only about twenty of them and they can’t go out in the sun.”

 

“But you  _ can  _ go out in the sun.”

 

“Yeah, marginally. One of our scientists - you’d probably know him, Nikola Tesla(?) - developed this personal shield sort of thing in the 50s. Keeps the sun off, keeps us from burning, y’know. Man, Nick… what a guy.”

“You knew Nikola Tesla?”

“Know. I know Nikola Tesla. He has a really weird thing about pigeons…” Holtzmann trailed off, seemingly lost in thought. “Anyway, Nosferatu = bad. Normal vamps = good. Good-ish. Not the worst.”

“Stop rambling and tell me how I can get Dean back.”

“You can’t.”

 

Once Holtzmann finished picking all of the shards of smashed porcelain from the second mug out of her face - “Seriously? Again?” - she says, in a tone of utmost importance. “You can’t. Seriously. There’s no way you’d be able to go up against a Nosferatu and take it down. Even most normal vampires can’t do that, and you aren’t one.”

“But you could.” Erin begs, “why were you tracking this guy if you couldn’t?”

“We track them and tag them, we don’t actually get involved. Law of the land, or so I’m told. Keeps us safe, and if a few humans go missing, why does that matter?”

 

Tears sting her eyes. “That’s cruel. You’re complicit in these crimes and you do nothing about them.”

“Are all humans complicit in the crimes of one of yours?”

Erin drops her gaze. Holtzmann’s made her mind up then. “Please.” She says, quietly. 

“No can do, cupcake, sorry!” And then Holtzmann disappears before her eyes, leaving shards of porcelain in her wake.

 

No. She’s not going to cry. She’s a smart woman. She can do this. 

 

She’s not going to call the police, though, because what on earth would she say? “I think my boyfriend’s been kidnapped by an ancient vampire, I didn’t kill him officer, seriously!” 

 

She goes instead to Google Chrome and types in one word.

 

_ Vampire. _

 

Once she’s sifted through Wikipedia entries, fanfiction ( _ far  _ too much fanfiction), various examples of pop culture and too many businesses, she finds one listing.

 

_ North’s Vampire Hunters - yes, we are real, we actually hunt vampires, yes I know.  _

 

And they’re in  _ New York. _

 

Not far from her place too.

 

She grabs her bag and heads out the door.


	8. the vampire hunter

North’s Vampire Hunters is a small shopfront down a back alley in Midtown. Erin has to step over several uncollected garbage bags before she can make it to the front door.

‘North’ is misspelled on the shop sign.

 

Yes, this bodes well. 

 

Cracking open the door to Nrth’s Vampire Hunters (and yeah, it’s definitely  _ cracking,  _ because that door  _ sticks _ ), she emerges into a dimly lit room that smells vaguely of Axe body spray and despair. Crossbows hang on the walls, and a grubby ceiling fan lumbers overhead.

It doesn’t smell great, but it’s the only hope she has.

 

The only other occupant of the office snorts, coughs, and raises his head from the desk he’s hunched over. “You’re… a customer.” He slurs, blinking lazily at Erin. “You’re a customer?”

 

“You’re a vampire hunter?” Erin doesn’t have time for this. 

 

“I am indeed.” The man sits up very straight and eyes her up and down. “You have a vampire that needs hunting?”

 

“Yes.” She tosses some photos on the table. The blood stain, the disturbed room, and so on. “My boyfriend was kidnapped. By a vampire. This is the crime scene.” 

 

“Excellent.” The man flips through the photos quickly and then sticks out a hand. “Rowan North. Vampire hunter. I know exactly what Nosferatu you’re looking for.”

 

“You do?” That was… fast.

 

She takes his hand. It’s ominously sticky. She lets go of his hand pretty fast after that.

 

“One of New York’s most vicious Nosferatu. Evil bitch. Her name? Clarissa.”

 

“Clarissa?” For one of New York’s most vicious vampires, it’s a… bit of a letdown.

 

“Yep.” Rowan pops the ‘p’. “See the smear, on the edge of the stain?”

 

Through the dim light in the shop, Erin can  _ just  _ see a smear. “So what?”

 

“That’s her trademark.”

 

“Good, so you can get my boyfriend back?” Maybe coming in here was a good idea after all!

 

“Yes…” Rowan looks her up and down again, as though considering.

 

“And?” She puts her hands on her hips, and tries very hard not to tap her foot impatiently. 

 

“For two hundred a day.  _ And  _ you go out for a coffee with me.”

 

_ What?  _ She’s asking this ...vampire hunter… to find her  _ boyfriend  _ and he’s coming onto her? “No way.”

 

“No deal then.” Rowan sits back in his chair and shrugs. “Sorry.”

 

The whole situation is suddenly becoming intensely, disturbingly creepy. She clutches her purse close to herself and says, “Please. I’ll pay.”

 

Rowan tsks. “Could have made it easier on yourself. Five hundred a day.”

 

Five hundred a day is a lot of money. 

But she has to get Dean back. 

If only Holtzmann was still around, but she’d run off with the rest of them. 

Fuck it.

 

“Fine. You’ve got a deal.” 

 

“Good.” Rowan smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “Tell me everything about your boyfriend…” 


	9. Chapter 9

Erin doesn’t call the police.

It feels like a mistake, but she can’t make herself do it. 

Every time she picks up the phone and goes to dial, she stops herself. It feels like it could make things worse. 

 

Rowan calls her during one of her lectures on a Friday afternoon. Her phone vibrates in her periphery as she’s in the middle of talking about the conservation of energy.

As much as she wants to stop the class and answer it, she  _ can’t.  _ It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Vampires exist, but it’s  _ fine. _

 

When the class files out, she rushes for her phone, fingers slipping on the case, and hastily redials. 

 

“Rowan?”

“Good afternoon, my dear.” He croons.

God, it’s creepy. The man’s like a dog in heat. “What do you have for me?”

“Ah yes, that.” Rowan sounds dismissive. “I found your boyfriend.”

“You did?!” She’s so relieved her heart could burst. “Tell me where he is. Is he okay? Please.”

“Oh, he’s just fine.” He snickers. “Better than fine.”

 

“What?” This doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right at all. “What do you mean…?”

 

“There’s a Nosferatu out there, alright.” Rowan snorts, “But your boyfriend’s not been murdered by her. They’re  _ fucking.” _

 

What. the fuck. She doesn't stumble over her words, can't let him know that her heart's just been torn in two. “You’re messing with me.”

“Wish I was, sweetcheeks. Unfortunately, in your case, no. You want proof?”

“I don’t even believe you.” He’s got to be making it up. This has got to be a sick joke. Dean  _ wouldn’t.  _ He  _ wouldn’t.  _

 

Rowan sighs. “You’re paying me to find out the truth. I have proof. You want it?”

 

“No.” Yes.

 

“Sure thing, honey.” He gives her an address and a time. “Be there. You’ll see. Perhaps you’ll want to get that coffee with me afterwards, eh?”

 

“Get lost, Rowan.” She hangs up, and sinks back against the wall. Her legs threaten to give out underneath her, and she stumbles, just managing to land in a seat in the first row of the lecture theatre.

 

He’s got to be making it up. Surely. 

 

There’s no way Dean would ever cheat. There’s no way Dean would ever do something as drastic as faking his death to get rid of her. 

 

She doesn’t want to go. 

  
  


But she does.


	10. Chapter 10

The address Rowan gave her is a set of warehouses near the river. She feels horribly exposed out in the open - if what Holtzmann said about the Nosferatu was true, how can she even escape their notice?

But she also can’t bring herself to care about her own safety. The desire to  _ know _ , to find out the truth? It overrides everything. She needs to find out.

 

There’s several windows looking into the biggest of the warehouses. They’re grimy, caked with some sort of darkened paste, but she manages to scrape away some of the goo.

 

The sight inside is magnificent.

 

Erin’s not sure if she’s ever seen so much gold before. It doesn’t glitter, because the place is only lit by candles, but it’s beautiful. Thick rugs and animal pelts cover the floors, and there’s an ornate king-sized bed down one end of the room.

 

It is on that bed that she sees him.

Huh.

 

The squirrelly vampire hunter wasn’t making it up, after all.

 

That’s Dean. On a bed. With an insanely beautiful redhead. 

Fucking.

Huh.

 

She staggers back and vomits all over the exterior wall.

 

That son of a bitch. He’d faked his own entrapment just so he could hook up with a Nosferatu?

 

That  _ jerk. _

 

She wipes her mouth, ignoring the fiery taste of acid and bile, and peers back into the room.

 

The pair is gone. 

They’re gone.

 

What does this  _ mean? _

  
  


“Erin?” Dean. From behind her. 

The hand on her shoulder didn’t used to have claws. 

Shit.


	11. Chapter 11

She turns, fighting hard to keep her heartbeat under control. It can’t possibly be -

 

But it is.

 

Dean, with dark eyes like deadly pools, claws, and sharp teeth. Rowan had been right.  _ Asshole. _

 

“You bastard.” She swears, just managing to avoid lunging at him. She had  _ worried.  _ She’d feared for his death.

 

“A bastard? Really?” Dean raises an eyebrow, not looking overly concerned. “You’re the one with a vampire bite on your neck. Who cheated first?”

 

“I didn’t cheat.” 

 

She hadn’t. The bite - well, it had to have come from Holtzmann, yes - but it hadn’t been cheating. 

 

“Sure.” He folds his arms, somehow still petulantly human under the layers of blood and annoyance.

 

“Well, I’ve got what I came for, so I might as well just leave.” Erin backpedals, noticing for the first time the redheaded Nosferatu standing behind Dean. She’s stunningly beautiful, but looks vaguely annoyed too.

 

And hungry.

 

“Yeah, I’m just going to go-”

 

But before she even thinks about moving, she’s grasped firmly by the arms and whisked into the warehouse by the redhead. 

 

Fuck.

 

Shit.

 

This is exactly why she’d hired a vampire hunter for this job. 

 

“What are you doing?” She gasps, when she finally finds her balance again on the edge of the luxurious bed. This isn’t a good sign. She doesn’t like it at all. There’s a lot of thoughts going through her brain - synapses firing off hypothesis and hypothesis -  and most of them aren’t good.

 

“You seem intelligent.” The redhead says. She has an accent that is old, far more proper than anything Erin’s ever heard. “You are not unattractive. You have persistence. Is she of wealth?” She asks Dean, and then reaches out and draws the sharp edge of one of her claws across the edge of Erin’s chin.

 

It doesn’t draw blood, but the sting’s a near thing.

 

“She has some money.” Dean says, with a shrug. “But do you really want to turn her?”

 

_ Turn her -  _ They can’t mean -

 

Erin stumbles back, trying to make a run for it, but barely makes it three feet before she’s yanked back onto the bed by her hair.

 

Her scalp  _ burns. _

 

“Now, now.” The redhead tsks. “We can’t have you running away, darling.”

 

“Just let me go.” Erin babbles, “I won’t tell anyone. I won’t pry any more, I promise -”

 

“Do you think that I am just trying to kill you?” The redhaired vampire learns over her and traces a nail over her scalp.    
  


Erin flinches, but can’t move away.

 

“I do not wish to turn you. I wish for you to become like us.”

 

“I’d rather be dead than let that happen.”

 

The vampire sits back, crosses her legs, and tugs a strand of Erin’s hair away from her face. She examines it curiously. “The decision is not up to you.” 

 

And then, like some creature out of a nightmare, she leans over and sniffs a long breath from the edge of Erin’s neck. 

 

It’s horrifying.

 

Erin looks over at Dean, but he’s just seated, watching the whole thing from a few feet away. He looks  _ happy. _

 

Scumbag.

 

“You are good blood stock.” The other woman muses. “You will suffice.” 

 

And with that damning admonishment, she strikes.

 

Her bite is the only thing that matters anymore, because nothing has ever felt quite so  _ good  _ for a while. The wave of pleasure in Erin’s body is akin to the best orgasm of her life, but it’s  _ better  _ than that, because it’s not just a physical thing. She feels this in her brain, in her soul. It’s fucking  _ wonderful.  _ She’s not felt anything like it in months, and, in her last vestiges of proper thought, she doesn’t know if she ever will again.

 

She feels like she should be struggling - should make the effort to cry out - but nothing else seems to matter as the world goes white at the edges.

 

“ _ Good. _ ” Someone, a woman, maybe (?) croons, from somewhere very far away. “Now, you must drink.”

 

There’s a wrist pressed to her lips before she even realises, red dripping from the underside. She wants to lick, to suck, to feel - more than she ever has before. 

 

The woman nearby is screaming, but she doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. All she wants to do is let go - relax into the scent and the feel and the taste -

 

So she does.

**Author's Note:**

> [check out my tumblr](http://villainousfilmmaker.tumblr.com)   
> 


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